chapter 26

Aarti leaned over the dining table in Kabir’s apartment, sketching furiously on a notepad. “Okay, hear me out—what if your restaurant has an open kitchen concept? So people can actually see the food being made?”  Kabir, sitting across from her, chin resting on his palm, grinned. “And by ‘people,’ you mean aunties who will judge me for not putting enough butter in their dal makhani?”  Aarti smirked. “Exactly.”  Kabir chuckled and leaned back. “You really think an open kitchen is a good idea?”  Aarti shrugged. “It makes the place feel more inviting. Like a home, not just a restaurant.”  Kabir stared at her for a moment before shaking his head with a smile. “I swear, you should’ve been in hospitality, not architecture.”  Aarti tapped the end of her pen against the table. “You say that now, but wait till I start charging you for my consultancy.”  Kabir laughed. “Fine, fine. Open kitchen. What else?”  Aarti flipped to a fresh page. “You said you wanted the menu to be different, right? A mix of Gujarati and Punjabi dishes?”  Kabir nodded. “Yeah. I mean, think about it—there’s paneer tikka dhokla, fafda chaat, makki di roti with kathiyawadi shaak—”  Aarti made a face. “Makki di roti with Gujarati sabzi? Blasphemy.”  Kabir grinned. “Says the woman who made me try methi thepla tacos last week.”  Aarti threw a crumpled piece of paper at him. “That was a masterpiece, Singh.”  He caught it easily, laughing. “Fine, we’ll experiment. But the point is, I don’t want the usual butter chicken and dal makhani menu. I want food that represents us—our cultures, our tastes, our fights over food.”  Aarti softened, tapping her pen against the page thoughtfully. “You mean… like our own little fusion of Gujarat and Punjab?”  Kabir nodded. “Exactly. Something that says ‘home’ to everyone who walks in.”  Aarti smiled. “I love that.”  Kabir grinned. “Then let’s make it happen.”  For the next hour, they brainstormed names for the restaurant, throwing out ridiculous ideas—  “Punjabi Pataka?” Aarti suggested, laughing.  Kabir groaned. “Sounds like a dhaba that only serves lassi.”  Aarti smirked. “What about Thepla Tandoori?”  Kabir gasped dramatically. “How dare you disrespect my tandoor like that? And like this I don't think we could ever decide the good name. ”  Aarti giggled, and after much debate, they settled on a name that felt just right—"North meets West."  “Sounds like a place where people will come for food and stay for the chaos,” Aarti said.  Kabir grinned. “Exactly like us.”  As the night deepened, they sat on their adjoining balconies, cups of chai in hand, staring at the city lights.  Kabir exhaled. “You know… I’ve always wanted to do this, but it never felt real until now.It was like far fetched dream. ”  Aarti nudged him lightly. “Well, now it is. But remember you’re not doing it alone.”  He turned to her, a soft smile playing on his lips. “No, I’m not. We will be together in everything.”  And for the first time, Kabir Singh felt like his dream wasn’t just his anymore. It was theirs. And that's just the start of building their bright future together... . To be continue...